


dive for dreams

by jillyfae



Series: live by love: codas & interludes [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Background Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Background Jocelyn Fairchild/Luke Garroway, Background Luke Garroway/Maryse Lightwood, Background Simon Lewis/Maia Roberts, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s03e01 On Infernal Ground, Episode: s03e02 The Powers That Be, Episode: s03e03 What Lies Beneath, Episode: s03e04 Thy Soul Instructed, Episode: s03e05 Stronger Than Heaven, Episode: s03e06 A Window Into An Empty Room, Episode: s03e07 Salt in the Wound, Episode: s03e08 A Walk Into Darkness, Episode: s03e09 Familia Onte Omnia, Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, F/M, Family Feels, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, Interstitials & Codas & Prologues Oh My, Introspection, Light Angst, Lightwood Family, M/M, Politics, Post-Episode: s02e20 Beside Still Water, References to Addiction, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: "I love you." Alec can hear his own voice, clear and open and almost plaintive carrying through the air. He hadn't meant to speak aloud, hadn't meant to break the moment, the comfort of the sun and breath and silence, but he couldn't help it. He'd had to let the pressure echoing his heartbeat outsomehow.Magnus lifts his head, and his eyes are gold, and his smile is soft, and his hand moves until his fingers trail against Alec's jaw. But it's not just his smile that makes Alec's throat burn, makes him blink his eyes and swallow the air caught in his throat; for the first time he can remember, Magnus doesn't look surprised at Alec's words."I love you, too."Season 3a reaction ficlets; as canon compliantwhen writtenas I could manage. I'll make sure each one is marked with the episode, so it's clear when it veers off course: [index]





	1. Before it begins again... (post 2x20)

**Author's Note:**

> dive for dreams  
> or a slogan may topple you  
> (trees are their roots  
> and wind is wind)
> 
> trust your heart  
> if the seas catch fire  
> (and live by love  
> though the stars walk backward)
>
>> e.e. cummings, "[five poems](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/issue/70795/june-1952)"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/171900456048)]

The sheets are dark blue today, just as lush and soft as the gold, the red. 

Not that Alec noticed the sheets last night. He smiles, sighs, closes his eyes for one long slow blink. It's somehow always warmer here, no matter how much he adjusts the thermostat in his room at the Institute. He rolls his shoulders and lets the stretch travel down his back all the way to his hips, his legs, until he curls his toes against the weight of the bedding above them, feeling the slide of silk that had been just far enough away from his body as he slept to still be cool.

He likes these blue ones better than the black. They're softer somehow, not so severe. They're comforting, welcoming like a cool dark night after everyone else is asleep. The night is never really black, after all, greys and blues and shadows shifting.  _Moonlight on Magnus' skin._ Alec wishes that if he stayed in these sheets it would stay night, stay last night, that the dim grey beyond the windows would never brighten, that time would not march on, that nothing else would ever go wrong.

He knows that's stupid.

He knows he'll never stop wishing it were true, not with the warmth of Magnus' fingers just brushing against his own, not when he wakes up in Magnus' bed.

 _Our bed?_  

_Our bed._

_Forever._

That's not a safe thought. 

He likes it anyways, and tucks it somewhere back behind the rest of his thoughts, keeps it secure and guarded and secret. 

Not that it's a secret from Magnus. 

No more secrets from Magnus.

But the rest of the world doesn't need to know that hope, doesn't need to weigh it down with concern or worry or doubt.

He knows what he wants, what he feels. That's more than enough, more than he'd ever considered possible.

He's starting to enjoy being surprised with the impossible.

Sometimes. Just a little. When it's Magnus.

He rolls onto his side, the easier to keep an eye on the windows, on the sky. The faint light is just enough that he can see the lift of Magnus' chest as he breathes. He waits, and watches the sky outside. At first it's pale, almost colorless, but soon he can see the barest hint of orange, of blue. He watches morning come whether anyone wants it to or not, but Alec can't begrudge it, not really, not as the air turns gold along Magnus' skin. The light's as rich and warm as Magnus' eyes when he drops his glamour, as warm as his skin when he rolls in towards Alec, his forehead pressed against Alec's chest. The first slow breath against Alec's skin is so soft he can barely feel it, but the next one is a little faster, a little cooler, and Alec knows that Magnus is awake. 

"Good morning," he whispers as softly as he can, lets himself touch at last, lets himself feel Magnus' hair between his fingers as he slowly strokes downward until his fingers catch against the top of Magnus' spine. It's hard to _breathe_ , a drag of weight caught in his lungs. There's something so fragile about the curve of Magnus' neck, something about soft skin and trembling light.

Or maybe Alec's the one who's trembling?

Magnus mumbles something, words muffled and incomprehensible, and Alec's chest aches somewhere beneath the shift of Magnus' lips, somewhere below the stutter of his breath against Alec's skin.

"I love you." He can hear his own voice, clear and open and almost plaintive carrying through the air. He hadn't meant to speak aloud, hadn't meant to break the moment, the comfort of the sun and breath and silence, but he couldn't help it. He'd had to let the pressure echoing his heartbeat out  _somehow._

Magnus lifts his head, and his eyes are gold, and his smile is soft, and his hand moves until his fingers trail against Alec's jaw. But it's not just his smile that makes Alec's throat burn, makes him blink his eyes and swallow the air caught in his throat; for the first time he can remember, Magnus doesn't look surprised at Alec's words.

"I love you, too."

It's not difficult for either of them to say, but perhaps it had been hard to hear, hard to believe, no matter how often they said it.

Had been.

_Not anymore._

Magnus is still smiling as Alec leans in to kiss him. Magnus' mouth opens, lips warm as he invites Alec in, a flick of his tongue enough to make Alec's heart stutter. It aches between his ribs, but it's a good sore, like the pull in his shoulders after a particularly hard sparring session or target practice. 

His heart is finally strong enough to love Magnus properly.


	2. five hearts broken, one put back together (3x01)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh look it’s sad!fic! And then it’s happy fic. Because I am a sap, and I cannot stand to make Magnus sad. Because I like to know what they’re thinking, because that is my jam. Because being a Shadowhunter _sucks._ Because being in love makes it better. Eventually. Except when it doesn’t. [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172116670228)]

_clary_

* * *

This should be a happy day.

Jace is alive.

She’s getting her rune, she’s really a Shadowhunter, not just some stupid lost mundane whose mother kept secrets, whose father... 

Whose father is dead.

Valentine is dead.

She killed him.

She killed her own father.

_His blood, so hot against my hands, my blood, my hands, my father._

She’s found a home again, a family. She _saved_  them, _she killed Simon,_ she saved him, _she saved him,_ she chose them over her father, she chose them, they chose her, Izzy and Alec and Magnus. It was right to choose them over her father, she’d choose them again and again if she had to, not him, never him. _I am nothing like him._ Her wish was nothing like his. She was _saving_  Jace, it wasn’t just for her, it wasn’t selfish, not like Valentine, not like her father.

He was never really her father, not like Luke.

_Luke isn’t here._

Her new family wouldn’t let him come.

Not that she’d even tried to ask.

What if she’d asked, and they asked her... something? Anything. All it would take was one question, just one, one thing too many.

What if she told the truth?

Why can’t she tell the truth?

Why won’t they stop _asking?_  She gave up so much for them, for this, her life, her dreams, her friends, Dot, the father she’d thought she’d had, the brother she hadn’t,  _her mother._

She can’t think about her mother, she can’t cry here, not now, not in front of all these people, this family she doesn’t even know.

_Why isn’t it enough, why won’t it ever be enough?_

They’re alive. Simon and Luke and all the Downworld.

Valentine is dead.

It’s enough.

It has to be enough.

* * *

_luke_

* * *

He knows he can’t let his partner into the Downworld. It never ends well.

_Look at Simon._

He hopes Simon is all right, hopes Maia believed him when he said it was probably just his music, wished he believed it was just Simon’s music. Wished he was doing something about that, rather than trying to convince this poor woman she’s crazy, even though he knows she’s not.

It makes him feel queasy, the back of his throat cool and slick and bitter.

He keeps reaching for his phone to call Jocelyn, to ask her for her help, to tell her how hard it is, to ask her to meet him for dinner so he can hold her hand and she can rest her head against his shoulder and he can stroke her hair until he’s strong enough to keep doing this.

So he can tell her he’s sorry, he’s starting to understand all her secrets all those years. What else can you do, when the truth is just going to hurt someone again?

What else can he do now? What else can he do without her?

Even if she was still alive he wouldn’t be able to call her. She’d be in Idris, with Clary.

Where he can’t go.

He can’t be there for Clary, has failed to be there for her, keeps failing her, even though she’s his daughter in all the ways that ought to count, and none of the ways that really do, not in Idris.

_I’m sorry._

He’s not sure who he most needs to say that to, Jocelyn or Clary or Simon or Maia or Ollie.

He keeps failing them all.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

Sorry is all he’s got left.

* * *

_alec_

* * *

There’s a woman he doesn’t know leaving the loft. 

A mundane?

Alec ducks into Magnus’ workspace, _he rearranged again,_  and _wow he looks good,_  and _he didn’t say hello?_

He’s just busy. With clients, apparently.

_Too busy for a welcome home kiss._

Alec knows he’s being ridiculous.

Isn’t he?

Only Magnus’ smiles are too sharp and he’s not the High Warlock anymore and he’s _elated_ and he’s moving too fast and he’s talking about money and he’s so _happy_  about Alec’s “promotion” and Alec tries, he tries, but it’s like he’s watching from a mile and a year away, like he’s wrapped in cotton, too tight to breathe, too thick to move, and Magnus is burning away, away, and there’s nothing he can do to reach out, no way to hold, no way to get past the sparks and touch him.

* * *

_jace_  

* * *

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here, but he can’t tell anyone that. Can’t, can _not_ , he loves them too much to make them bear this, too much to destroy them, too much, not enough, he’s never enough. It’s like his chest is hollow, no heart left, _no human heart, no angel blood,_ just a strange echoing darkness.

He always knew there was darkness in him, and now. Now there’s nothing else left.

_How dare she do this to him._

How can he be mad at her? He’s such a monster, and she saved him, she doesn’t regret it, she should regret it, _he should have stopped her_ , she’s saved him over and over, he loves her, he loves her so much it’s hard to think, to sleep, so much he wakes up every morning afraid, what if, _what if._  What if?

 _She shouldn’t love me, look what she’s done, look what I turned her into,_   _look what she did to me._

It’s almost a relief when Sebastian--when the real Jonathan Christopher’s voice fills his thoughts and drowns out his own tired voice, their blood burning and hatred so bright in their eyes. He’s an easier monster to live with. He never had a choice, after all, demon blood and exiled to Hell and twisted by Valentine. Jace had a choice, had so many choices. How does he always make the wrong one? Why can’t he get it right, just once, just long enough to save his family?

He has to save them. Has to save them from himself. Has to save them before it’s too late.

* * *

_isabelle_

* * *

Clary’s lying to her. Jace is lying to her. They’re lying to everyone and the answer is obvious but she can’t let herself think it, can’t let herself, can’t let anyone think it.

Alec is fighting with Jace again, and she can hear the fear under the anger, fear so strong it drowns the joy that they’re all still alive, fear so much deeper and stronger than the thin bit of rage he’s letting out. He’s so afraid for Jace, for their brother, for his future, for everyone’s future.

But not for her.

No one’s ever afraid for her, and she wants a hit, wants it so badly it’s hard to think, hard to focus on what’s in front of her, it burns between her bones and down her throat and she yells at them to shut up hoping it’ll stop the ache between each breath and they don’t care that she’s fighting her cravings and she can’t distract herself with a piece of fucking candy because the mundane piece of crap vending machine won’t take her money and give her chocolate.

Kicking it was completely reasonable and rational.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. 

* * *

_magnus_

* * *

All he’d wanted, after Lorenzo, after the Warlocks, after losing...

All he’d wanted was Alec, his Alexander, but when Alec came back, when he’d had the chance, he hadn’t, he couldn’t, he’d--. He was being an idiot, he _knew that,_ but he couldn’t seem to _stop._

He couldn’t ruin Alec’s life just because his own was such a mess.

He had to let Alec do what was right for him, not make him do what Magnus wanted just because Magnus was what, sad?

He’d get over it.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Why then did he have to keep reminding himself not to stare, not to say, not to ask...

How was it possible that a man who clearly just wore whatever shirt and jeans he pulled out of some sort of basic Nephilim stock room could always look so damnably _good_  in them? It was making it very difficult to remember what he was supposed to say, difficult to remember whatever it was he thought he was doing, what he was hiding, what Alec wasn’t supposed to know.

But Alec knew. How did he know? Who had known to tell him... 

_Catarina._

Alec knew, and he looked up across the pool table with those eyes and that stupid grey shirt and Magnus couldn’t make himself stop anymore.

_I don’t want you to go._

For a breath Alec was so stiff, almost angry, and Magnus remembered what he’d decided, what he’d planned, now that it was too late. _Shit._ But then of course he had it backwards, how did he keep getting it backwards? He’d almost broken both their hearts _again_  because he thought he had to make a choice between what he wanted and what he needed. 

Magnus considered the idea that he ought to be embarrassed by that, but Alec was smiling and nothing could be wrong with a world that led to that smile. Nothing wrong with a world that led to Alexander kissing him.

_Thank you, Catarina._


	3. normal (3x01)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little Maia/Simon, because they're wonderful

He makes her feel _normal._

She hasn’t felt normal since... ever? Certainly even before Jordan and blood and pain and Luke.

It doesn’t make sense. He’s a Downworlder, a Vampire, a fucking walking legendary  _Daylighter._  He’s Camille’s spawn and has a weird-ass almost relationship with the head vampire of New York. (Though to be fair, everyone except Magnus has a weird-ass relationship with Raphael. The dude’s wound tight.)

His best friend’s a Shadowhunter, and not just _a_ Shadowhunter, but the strangest newest shiniest Shadowhunter whose Father wanted to kill them all. To be fair, despite all the reasons Clary is exhausting, she never did agree with that one.

And Maia’s alpha’s kind of his Dad and he’s staying in touch with his mundane family like that doesn’t always end in tragedy (and she _helped_ ) and the Seelie Queen’s obsessed with him and basically he’s a walking disaster. 

She’s not sure how he manages to cross the street without starting WWIII most days.

But he smiles at her, and she _feels._ She feels, happy and sad and exasperated and almost still human, not just anger and the claws between her fingers and the fur beneath her skin. He kisses her, and she doesn’t feel anything else at all, just him and the way he smiles against her lips and laughs when she touches his skin.

He’s a good kisser; surprisingly so, considering he’s so often an idiot.

But he’s a cute idiot. He’s _her_  idiot, and apparently she’s his. 

She’s glad he’s staying around. She likes him; she likes who she is when he’s around. She likes them both, and she’s not sure when that happened.  


It’s a nice change, looking forward to tomorrow instead of bracing for it.


	4. tea (3x02)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> malec coda fic. Because they're so _soft_.
> 
> and I apparently have a lot of feels about Magnus & _tea_
> 
> [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172566845518)]

Magnus is not sure if it’s because he’s so tired, but the smallest details keep catching in his chest, making him forget his thoughts.

Maybe it’s just because of Alexander.

Alexander, who is bracing more of Magnus’ weight than he’d really like to admit. Alexander, who still smells of sandalwood, and every time Magnus breathes he keeps seeing his smile when he asked for more, so small and soft and warm, bathed in morning sunlight. 

Magnus feels as warm as if he’s still standing there and then, rather than pretending he’s not half-staggering home after the heaviest bit of magic he’s had to do in… who knows how long.

Alexander gives a quick squeeze around his arm as Magnus sits down, and Magnus can feel every callous on Alexander’s palm and across his fingers, a constellation pressed through his shirt to the skin beneath.

Alexander slips away, and Magnus sighs.

Alexander is talking to himself as he looks for something in the kitchen. At first it’s just a meaningless murmur, warm and soothing, but then Magnus hears the soft lift of words, “no, that’s not it.” For half a heartbeat that whisper is the only sound in the world, and even when he hears the beep of the kettle a few moments later it seems somehow muffled and dim in comparison.

He blinks, and there Alexander is again, and Magnus is caught by the flex of his bare foot as he walks silently across the carpet, glimpses of dark red and gold curling beneath his toes.

“Here.” Alexander’s offering him a mug, and the steam smells delicious, notes of chamomile and honey. Magnus doesn’t reach out, just feels a smile form on his face. Alexander’s a step too far away too touch, but it’s like he can feel the brush of his shoulder against him anyways. Because he’s  _here,_  and here is home, and here is as full of Alexander as it ever was of Magnus.

“I love you.” He takes the mug, cradling it between his hands, the warmth spreading through his fingers and wafting up in front of his face.

Alexander smiles, and Magnus especially likes the feel of that one, tangled up somewhere between his ribs. “I love you too.”


	5. regret (3x03)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we all knew this was coming, right? right. because #Lightwood Family Feels & #Maryse Fucking Lightwood People (aka jilly *cries forever* via fic.) [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172724878448)]

Jace and Isabelle both send their regrets.

Maryse can feel the echoes of the anger that would have been her reaction such a short time ago. _How dare they, disrespectful, dismissive._  It makes her stomach clench. She is careful not to think how much that voice sounds like Valentine. Tries and fails not to think how Robert would have soothed, and patted, and riled her up all the more.

_So he could be the reasonable one?_

She’s not sure if that’s fair. She can’t tell, she’s too close, too hurt, too tired. Her own judgement has clearly never been that good.

She always thought herself so _sharp._

She wishes she still had a voice in her head that sounded like her brother to drown them out. But Max would’ve _hated_  the woman she’d grown into, and she’d lost the last whispers of his voice years ago.

Why hadn’t that worried her more, when it had happened? Why hadn’t she even _noticed?_

She’s going to have to listen to her _own_  voice now. And hope it’s gotten dramatically wiser in the last few weeks than the previous two decades, so she doesn’t hurt her children too much again.

She puts her phone away, and finishes getting ready to go. Ignores the weight of sorrow, too thick in her throat. 

She doesn’t have the right to feel hurt. Why wouldn’t they put their duty before their mother? It’s only what she taught them, time and time again. They don’t know...

Which is of course the point, they _don’t,_  and she needs to tell them before they find out and it’s hard to breathe and she wishes she had something stronger than wine clenched between her fingers as she leaves. 

She wishes she didn’t know that, however politely worded, there was assuredly very little regret in either of them for missing her. For abandoning their brother to her presence, yes, but not for her.

Not that she deserves it.

Maybe she will, some day. 

She won’t if she doesn’t actually go to dinner and talk to Alec.

Apologize to Magnus. 

If he’ll let her. She knows he’s here for Alec, not for her, but the fact that he _is?_  She doesn’t deserve that either. 

She hopes she doesn’t screw it up. _Again._  So many broken shards of her life, and she was the one who swung the hammer. It twists like a blade between her ribs, sharp and deep and a scrape along her bones, to see who Alec has become, now that he got away from her. To see him happy, and only realize by the change how profoundly unhappy he’d been before. How profoundly she’d almost broken him. Almost broke all four of them.

They are so much stronger than she was. She’s so grateful. 

She sniffs and shakes her head and makes herself enter Magn--. 

She walks into  _their_ building. Uses the elevator. It opens at the penthouse level with a subdued _*ding*_ and she stares out at the hallway, the carpet, the wide double doors. The elevator door closes before she manages to move, and she swallows.

Well. That’s ridiculous of her. 

She wonders if she should have worn a different dress, a different color, put her hair up, maybe a different wine?

 _This is not less ridiculous._  

She pushes the button to open the doors again, and strides down the hallway, and she’s fine, she can _do this,_ she loves him, he knows she loves him, doesn’t he?

She stops again, looks at the gold _PH_  in front of her. Waiting. She sighs, feels the shudder of her breath. She does love him. She is so proud of him. She knows she can tell him that. It’s a place to start.

She smiles, breathes, makes sure it doesn’t wobble.

She knocks. 


	6. parabatai (3x04)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because _Thy Soul Instructed_ broke my Alec Lightwood loving soul [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172834374163)]

Alec didn't know what to say. There was fear in Clary's eyes, regret in the line of her arms, which were braced too heavily on his desk. But she held her worries too tightly inside her, and he couldn't convince her to share their weight with him.  


Then again, he didn't know how to let his own screaming thoughts out of his head, so why did he think it would be easy for anyone else? But she knew something, obviously she knew something, something about his parabatai, about the other half of soul. She knew something he didn't about Jace.

> _I felt him die._

Alec gave in rather than push again. It was important Isabelle knew she could handle vampire cases again, and Alec was surprised to realize that Clary would have been his first choice for her partner on that trip anyways. He knew Clary would back her up in all the ways Izzy needed, even if she wasn't the best fighter in the Institute.

He shivered something that was almost a shrug. Respecting Clary felt weird. Not bad, but weird.

Not respecting Jace. That was worse. That was impossible. That was... fatal.

Alec closed his eyes and swallowed. He reached for the parabatai bond out of habit, out of need, _let me help you_ , and it felt like he'd stubbed his toe and stumbled, like he was lost in sea-thick fog, like he was alone. 

He stood up and went to look for Jace.

Jace wouldn't lie to him, would he? Avoid things, dance around each other, pull in different directions, argue, yes. But lie? The very thought made him ill, like something in his chest was being torn in two, like he was fore-sworn and burning. But if Jace wasn't lying, what could it be?

> _I felt you die, didn’t I?_

Well. Talking to Jace went even worse than he could have possibly imagined. The fog in between them was cold now, and in the center it was thicker, no longer just a bump or a ruined wall to surprise his unsteady steps, but almost a doorway, almost a door.

Alec kept reaching even after Jace walked away, over and over, by accident, by habit, by instinct, until he was bruised somewhere inside, somewhere he didn't have a word for, and the ache filled up his chest until it was hard to breathe. 

When he realized he'd read the same paragraph about five times and still didn't know what it said, he also realized that he kept looking up at the ceiling, rubbing his chest, thinking about the roof. 

He gave up and left the Institute. From the ground floor.

> _I feel like we’re dying._

Magnus made him eat.

It helped.

It hurt, how much he didn't hurt, whenever Magnus touched him.

> _I felt him die, I feel him dying, he’s so alone_. 

Morgan being free should have been good news.

It didn't feel like it.

Especially when the door somewhere inside him creaked softly as it shifted; it was almost closed.


	7. balance (3x05)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flower prompt:  
> Jonquil– Love Me, Desire for Affection Returned  
> Lilly-Of-The-Valley– Sweetness, Return to Happiness, You’ve Made My Life Complete 
> 
> Alec POV interstitial [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/173105186063)]

Alec felt off balance all day.

He was usually _right_  when he followed his instincts when it came to Magnus. Maybe not everything else of late, maybe very little else even, maybe nothing except Magnus. Not even Magnus, now.

Every other time Alec had done something wrong, had accidentally hurt the one person he least wanted to injure, he knew at some level he was going the wrong way. Even if he didn’t know which way he should have gone instead, he could feel how shaky the ground was beneath his feet. But this time he hadn’t.

This time it had felt right.

He knew it was a little presumptuous, but it wasn’t as if he could make the offer for Magnus to move in with _him._ A bedroom and a tiny bathroom and kitchen privileges in a Shadowhunter Institute did not make a home.

He wasn’t sure how his parents survived it as long as they did, even in one of the larger family suites.

Maybe they hadn’t, and they’d just hidden it better back then?

And then there was Magnus, and his loft, and the way the light turned gold in the mornings, then cool and blue in the evenings, and the incredible improbable combination of scents tangled up around the workshop.

It was beautiful, and he’d always felt welcomed inside. It felt like _home._  

Alec didn’t know what to do with himself if it wasn’t home.

If Magnus wasn’t home.

Magnus never made the first move, not since the wedding-that-wasn’t. He always waited, waited until Alec was ready, waited until Alec asked. 

Waited even after Alec asked, this time.

Magnus said _they_ had time.

 _Magnus_ had time.

Alec might not. With the ley lines and the Owl and whatever had happened to Morgan, right here in the Institute’s walls, with the troubling trembling feel of anticipation along the _parabatai_ bond, he felt like he might not last the _week,_  much less another year or two. Definitely not twenty.

What was wrong with wanting to hold onto what he had for as long as he could?

What was wrong with wanting to stay in the one place where he felt _whole_?

What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t be whole by himself?

Magnus loved him, he knew that. Magnus would be devastated when Alec died, he knew that too, for all he hated to think about it. But Magnus had a whole box of people he’d mourned. Magnus would _survive,_  would feel better eventually, would still be able to live, would someday show that box to someone else, after Alec. Would still be _Magnus._

And he didn’t begrudge him that. Alec didn’t want Magnus to be miserable, could never want that. Alec wasn’t jealous of the people Magnus had loved, the people who’d loved him in the past, not really.

Alec could barely survive the day when Magnus was vaguely disappointed in him, and Magnus would survive… anything.

That was the real problem.

Magnus would survive. Magnus would hold Alec up when he stumbled, Magnus would always be there for him, _always,_  and Alec.

Alec couldn’t do anything for him in return.

He knew relationships weren’t transactions, that no one was keeping a tally, a credit. But what sort of relationship could it be, how could they ever really be partners, how could it last, if Alec couldn’t hold Magnus up too?


	8. one step at a time (3x06)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SH 3x06 interstitial
> 
> Because Maryse fucking Lightwood / And Luke Garroway
> 
> And Lightwood Family Feels
> 
> (basically all the usual stuff)
> 
> [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/173486530218)]

Alec asked if it hurt.

Maryse could feel Isabelle rolling her eyes behind her; she didn’t even have to see it, because of course it hurt. They all knew de-runing hurt.

_Knowing was different than living through it._

It still hurt, every step, every breath, she could feel the phantoms of each rune on her skin, scalding and freezing, being put on and taken away, over and over and _over._

She couldn’t tell how much of that was real, how much of that was in her head.

It wasn’t like anyone did _studies_  on what it felt like to be a Nephilim without your runes.

No one wanted to think about it.

No one wanted to talk about it.

Except Alec. Who asked if it _hurt._

_Enough to scream all the way to the Angels._

But Maryse knew what Alec was really asking. Did it hurt _too much_ , did she need their help, their comfort? Or did she need to hold it in, to face it herself, at least for now? 

Sometimes she realized all over again how very much alike they were, how much Alec was _her son,_ and she wanted to cry. He deserved better. He was better, in every possible way.

For now this pain was hers, and she was going to keep it that way.

So she smiled, and she turned, and she lied. (They all knew she lied). _Everything is fine. Everything will work out._  If she lied often enough, some day it would be the truth.

Some day.

And until then, she’d just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Until then, she’d hold onto her children, the three of them she could reach, the memory of the fourth, as tightly as they’d let her.

And maybe have an extra drink or two after dinner.

* * *

It was a shame Magnus couldn’t come. Even beyond the fact that Alec clearly missed him, it didn’t feel like a family dinner without him. 

Maryse wondered if Magnus would want to know she felt that way.

She’d been hoping to see Clary too, to see who she was around Jace, who Jace was around her, but she had a feeling Jace hadn’t even invited her.

Jace wasn’t really... _Jace_. Not that he didn’t have cause, but it made something in her heart stutter every time she looked at him. Something in her lungs caught when she reached out to touch him, and he let his head slip away from her hand. 

She hoped Alec and Isabelle and Clary could help.

Charlie seemed sweet, though honestly she had no idea why Isabelle hadn’t _told them_  her cover story, so they could back it up. Poor boy probably thought they were a crime family or something at this point.

It had been delightful to see Alec allow himself to be _amused,_  though. In public even! Maybe that was worth the almost stumble in front of Isabelle’s mundane.

She wondered how Isabelle had ended up with _jewelry._

Beyond the fact that it was much easier to explain than magical swords. Or demons.

Her thoughts kept flickering, back and forth and round and round, and she couldn’t settle, and she kept smiling, and losing the smile, and starting over with the next one. She was tired. She wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep again.

Until she saw Lucian, and everything inside her went still.

Until he spoke, and for the first time in years she wanted to laugh.

Until he called her lovely, and for just an instant, nothing hurt.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to lie for as long as she thought.

Maybe everything really _was_  going to be fine.

Maybe someday she’d manage something even  _better._


	9. Façades (3x07)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because I like outside perspectives, Jia Penhallow from _Salt in the Wound_. Which will probably turn out to be 500% out of character since we met her for all of a red-hot minute, but I like the Jia in my head today, so I’m sharing. [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/173713337273)]

Inquisitor Herondale didn’t just  _show people around._

Inquisitor Herondale did have a soft spot for her recently discovered grandson.

Jia hadn’t thought it was  _that_  soft a spot, to extend to the Lightwoods and Valentine’s daughter. But Imogen seldom thought that the rules applied to  _her,_ which might very well balance things out for whatever this was.

But Jia couldn’t very well refuse a request for an interview from the Head of an Institute. 

Not even to follow Herondale around, no matter how suspicious her behavior. 

Not even when he was so clearly just a distraction.

But being unable to refuse didn’t mean she had to let this conversation linger. She asked Alec about his mother. It seemed the mostly likely topic of concern, if he had some secondary goal in mind beyond letting his people escape Jia’s attention.

There was  _something_  in his eyes when she asked him about Maryse, for all he dismissed the question.   


Was he distracting Jia from Imogen, _and_ preventing something else? From what Jia knew of her, remembered of her when she was young, it seemed unlikely that Isabelle Lightwood was as good at the political game as her brother, and might even be the sort to lose her temper.

Her mother’s de-runing was temper-worthy. Jia knew that. Perhaps Alec just wanted to prevent that conversation for as long as possible.

He countered with a question about the delegate job, and that was when Jia knew that he was _just_ buying time. He had no interest in the job. She’d have lost some respect for him if he had; they both knew it was the sort of promotion intended to get him out of the way, not give him a chance to make more noise.

He was quite good enough at rattling the Council’s cages already. It was odd to watch him, sometimes, a thin veneer of studied Lightwood charm on top of that brutal Trueblood honesty. It was a _concerning_ combination.

She wasn’t sure he knew _how_  concerned the Council was about him and his changes. Downworld Cabinets and righteous defense of the _actual_  Accords, not the selective version most Institutes enforced, allies in New York who were clearly loyal to _him_  and not the Institute. Not the Clave.

Jia had heard that Alec had even let Maryse into his Institute after her excommunication. Which wasn’t a surprise, considering his history, but was just one more black mark the Council could add to their tally if they ever got an excuse to move against him. 

He didn’t seem to care about that. It was admirable, in its way, if potentially short-sighted.

She could tell he wasn’t really disappointed he’d lost the job, and he could tell she’d seen right through him, but he successfully dragged the conversation out for a few more minutes, and she somehow found herself talking about the other delegates, and the Council’s schedule, and giving him another quarter hour.

He was just so _polite,_  with his careful voice and parade rest. 

Determined.

Sometimes, when he stood at attention and looked out at the Council during a meeting, she remembered he was an archer, and wondered if somehow he was seeing even further than the rest of them, and she was the one who was short-sighted.

It was an odd sensation, considering how young he still was.

She remembered him when he was shorter than her, playing with Aline in the woods, their laughter echoing through the trees.

She remembered how angry he’d been just a few years later, how poor a choice for successor she’d thought him, when Maryse and Robert picked him. She’d assumed it simple nepotism.

Even if it had been then, it appeared to have worked out now.

But he’d settled into his position, into his ideals. Into himself. Which all started by coming out and dating a warlock, neither of which usually led to much political success on their own, much less both at once. And yet here they were.

Alec Lightwood was dangerous, and she still wasn’t sure if they’d end up on the same side or not.


	10. silences (3x08)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from 3x06 - 3x08: Magnus and Alec and the things they don’t say
> 
> [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/173737361028)]

Magnus doesn’t say sorry before Alec leaves.

 _Storms out_.

Magnus knows he should.

He knows he was wrong.

Alec is not a child. If anyone’s acting like one... Magnus knows it’s him.

But he doesn’t know any way to solve anything after that. What good’s an apology if you can’t promise to do better?

There is no better.

Alec deserves better. 

* * *

Alec doesn’t argue when Magnus says he’ll use himself up, _if it’s the death of me_ , to save them. He thinks it though.  


_You’re worth saving._

He’s told him that before, and clearly Magnus doesn’t believe him.

_If you can’t save yourself for you, can you do it for me?_

But he’s told him that, too. _I don’t think I can live without you._

He doesn’t know how else to tell him he loves him.

* * *

Magnus doesn’t say anything when Alec claims he’s nothing.

He thinks it though. _You’re everything. You’re my everything._

He’s not sure he has the right to say it. Not after he kept pushing Alec away. 

If Alec doesn’t know it already, they’re further apart than Magnus thought.

* * *

When Alec hears Magnus’ voice, his cry, _hurry,_  it sounds like rescue.  


It sounds like tragedy.

It’s relief and panic and fear. He can _hear him,_  finally, but he can’t respond. He can’t. Not in any way that Magnus will hear.

He has to act instead. He has to, but it feels almost too late.

What if it is too late, and he’s lost Magnus trying to save Jace?

Jace picks up his blade, and Alec can’t breathe, not even the odd wavering air here in this place that isn’t a place.

What if he loses Jace trying to get back to Magnus?

The Owl taunted him with that, with having to chose, and he knows he can’t, he never will, and he’d sacrifice himself in a second to save them both but he doesn’t know _how._

He hopes he figures it out before it’s really is too late.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” It rips from Magnus’ throat, the words as raw on the inside as Lilith’s magic had been on the outside.  


Now that it’s too late.

Why is he always _too late._

Why is there nothing else he can do. Nothing else to say. Nothing that will make anything better.

* * *

There’s nothing else to say, when Magnus tries to comfort him. Tries to tell that he did all that he could.  


_So did you, Magnus._  

Alec’s everything wasn’t enough. It’s never _enough._  Magnus did so much more than Alec ever could, Magnus did all that he could, used so much power Alec can still taste it in the air, he almost gave _everything,_ gave himself up for the rest of them. 

It’s no thanks to Alec he survived. _If he hadn’t..._ Alec can’t think about it. Nothing Alec did was enough, not for Magnus, not for Izzy.

Not for Jace.

_I promised._

Alec’s afraid to say anything else. He’d never survive another broken promise.


	11. blasphemy (3x09)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because more Jia Penhallow? 
> 
> I love this show and all its terrible & wonderful maternal figures, what can I say.
> 
> [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/180310558293)]

She’s  _tired._

She’s sure no one else can tell; she’s good at this, at least. She knows her duty. She  _chose_ it, she won’t flinch from it now.

The Consul always presides over executions, so that’s what she’ll do. The fact that one of them is their newest Shadowhunter, the one they’d all been so  _proud of_  only a few short days ago, the one they’d thought a gift from the Angels… 

That is perhaps unfortunate, but it isn’t, once she thinks about it, really a surprise. Valentine fought for his own goals. Jocelyn abandoned her people to protect herself. It’s not a shock that their daughter is just as selfish as they were, just as arrogant, just as self-assured and self-righteous.

The fact that one of the executions is personal, that one of these criminals is in that cage because of something Jia did? That is the one she has trouble accepting. That is not something she’s proud of, but she’s not sure if that’s enough of a reason to regret her actions, to regret what she asked of that Warlock.

She’s not sure if it’s enough of a reason to listen to the Fairchild girl, who is clearly just trying to delay her own execution.

But can she afford not to?

The reasons she asked Rouse for black magic have not changed.

They’re even more compelling now, in fact, knowing that if Lilith is too much they have no recourse, no final solution, no angel-blessing to use against her, to stop the Mother of All Demons from achieving her end.

Because of Fairchild.

Her choices are gone, because of one impetuous  _child._

It doesn’t matter how tired Jia is, how questionable her decisions. It is her job to keep her people fighting, to make sure they don’t lose this war, no matter what.

Even this is worth it. 

_Exitus ācta probat._

Nephilim exist for sacrifice. This is just one more.

_The end justifies the means._

Any means, any sacrifice. She knows her duty. She will accomplish it.


	12. family (3x10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because Magnus! And Maryse! idk, I'm bad at blurbs, please enjoy anyways [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/180256875033)]

Alec is with Jace. Isabelle is in the armory again. Or still, Magnus isn’t quite sure, and it’s not like he’s one to begrudge someone else the need to drown themselves in work for awhile.

Magnus doesn’t have that option. He’ll figure something out eventually he knows, he’s a survivor, he always figures something out, always will,  _always,_ he always has  _always,_  only now he doesn’t, and he doesn’t have work, he doesn’t have…

He’s alive. 

Lilith is gone, Jace is free, Alec is  _here,_ in all the ways that matter even if he’s not literally in the loft at this exact moment. Alec still wants to be here, still want here to be  _them,_  which is more than enough for anyone, and yet. Magnus doesn’t know what to  _do,_ with himself or his life, in general or specific, in the philosophical or literal, right now or tomorrow or next week.

The door buzzes and he winces. There’s no way to know who it is unless he asks, unless he looks, unless he steps over and makes it explicit that he can’t just wave a hand, that he  _can’t…_

Magnus shakes his head and answers, accepts a package and sits down on his sofa to stare at it.

It’s addressed to both him and Alec, which is a reminder of too many conversations he wishes he could re-do. Some of which they still need to revisit, at some point, but they’ve been healing. Resting.

Avoiding?

The return address isn’t familiar.

The penmanship is lovely. Consistent and easy to read, with just the faintest shift in the thickness of the ink in the curve of the letters. He should probably be suspicious, but it’s been so long since he had  _mail,_  and he can’t help the smile, the flicker of curiosity warming the edges of the ever present ache in his chest. It’s probably odd of him to see care in the curve of the  _g_  but that’s what it looks like nonetheless. Besides, he trusts Cat and her wards, even if he can’t do more than see the faint flicker of magic in the corner of his eyes.

He’s not sure if still having the Sight is a gift or a curse, a part of his father’s punishment or hope forgotten at the bottom of Pandora’s Box, but for now he’s glad of it. He can see Cat’s care in the shift of power still guarding his loft, and he knows that’s not just him being fanciful; she’d made that more than clear when she set them up.

He opens his package, ripping inelegantly through the paper as he’d forgotten a knife or scissors and the tape at the corners is too thick and smooth to pull apart with his fingers.

There’s a note on top, and even before he reads it he sees the name at the bottom:  _Maryse._ He allows himself a moment of dizzy disbelief that he’s glad to see her name on a gift, that the world has turned around so completely from where it was just a few short years ago.

> _Dear Alec & Magnus,_
> 
> _I thought you might need this right now more than I do. Remember why, my boys. Exitus acta probat. I’m proud of you both. Take care of each other._
> 
> _Maryse_

Magnus blinks, and he’s not sure if he wants to cry or laugh or rip the note in half or save it forever. While it’s usually translated as  _the end justifies the means,_  he’s pretty sure that’s not quite what Maryse means, and her awkward Nephilim pride in their sacrifices, her assurance that what they did, what they gave, has meaning, has value, is more comforting than he’d expected.

He sets the note aside and finds himself in possession of a photo-album, one of the most common style from fifteen years or so ago, with the ubiquitous almost-tacky gold border on the cover.

He opens it to the sight of a familiar Maryse and Robert from over twenty years ago, only they’re nothing like he knew them then. They’re wrapped around each other, ignoring the camera completely in favor of smiling down at the baby in Maryse’s arms.

Smiling down at  _Alexander._

Magnus is sure the smile growing on his face is at least twice as sappy as theirs were, though there’s no one here to take a picture to prove it.

Next are pictures of Alexander as a baby, wide-eyed and dark-haired with tiny little fingers almost always curled into fists as if he was already preparing to take on the entire world.

Toddler Alec is usually carrying crayons, and Magnus’ favorite picture is him sitting at a full-sized adult desk writing very carefully with one, the tip of his tongue  _just_  sticking out between his lips as he concentrates.

A second baby shows up, and even if Magnus hadn’t known it was Isabelle he would have recognized the look in Alec’s eyes, exactly as fierce and devoted as he is now every time he sees his sister. 

It’s adorable,  _they’re_  adorable, and each new picture of them together manages to break Magnus’ heart and heal it at the same time.

When Alec is probably somewhere between eight and ten it starts to change. There are fewer smiles, and the occasional hunched shoulders, as if he’s starting to see too much of his future, as if he’s starting to notice the ways in which he doesn’t fit… but Izzy is still laughing, still clearly delighted by her brother’s company. 

Magnus has to close his eyes, hand pressed flat against the smooth plastic protecting the photos. Even then, Alec was trying to carry the weight of the world so she wouldn’t have to… 

He opens his eyes, and turns the page, and Jace arrives.

There’s a formal portrait of the whole family. Jace’s eyes won’t meet the camera’s lens, his face ducked just a little. Alec’s shoulders are angled towards him, as if he’d already decided that Jace needed his protection just as much as Izzy.

After that they’re back to candids, baby Shadowhunters training and eating and studying and occasionally still laughing. Alec’s guarded now, in a way he wasn’t when he was younger, but Magnus can see he’s happy, his posture easing whenever Jace and Izzy are smiling.

The last picture is clearly supposed to be an echo of the first. Robert and Maryse are standing together, but there’s a space between their shoulders, and his face is formal as he stares at the camera. She’s looking at the baby in her arms again, but this time her smile is small, and there’s a shadow in her eyes. Jace and Izzy look bored, fake smiles plastered on their faces even as they’re clearly counting the seconds until they can leave, but  _Alec._ His Alexander is standing on Maryse’s other side, ignoring the camera completely as he smiles down at Max. He’s even got his hand out, Max’s tiny fist wrapped around one finger. 

Magnus sighs, and trails the tip of his finger along the line of Alec’s arm. 

_Family means everything._

Alec still has his family, even after everything.

Maryse is right.  _The end is worth the cost._ Magnus nods, and starts to close the book. The last page shifts, and he blinks as he realizes it’s not actually the end, there’s one more page. He turns it, and his eyes widen as his breath catches in his throat, and he almost drops the album onto his foot.

The actual last page has two pictures are of him and Alec. First a formal hand-shake before a meeting, though there’s a glint of humor in Alec’s eyes, and Magnus recognizes the shift of his own shoulders in response. Second is a shot of him and Alec at the Hunter’s Moon, leaning on their pool cues and smiling at each other. He remembers that night, that date, the warmth in Alec’s eyes and the way he’d laughed when he’d lost their game. Magnus doesn’t have a clue who took the picture, though it’s obvious why he hadn’t noticed, his focus entirely on Alec. 

Magnus blinks, feels the heat in his eyes barely held in check. 

Maryse put Magnus in her family album, and sent it to them both to show them  _why,_  to tell them she’s proud, to remind them to take care of each other…

Magnus smiles again, helplessly, delightedly, and puts the album next to the note on the coffee table. He can’t wait until he can go through it again with Alec.

 _Family means everything._  


End file.
